You are the choices you make
by Jojoy
Summary: Katniss learns something. And she chooses something too. I think you'll just have to read it if you want to know what it is. Or who it is. Joniss all the way. And don't worry: multichapter!
1. An epiphany named Johanna

Hello peeps!

God, I forgot how totally engulfing and lovely and painful writing a ff can be.

As you can see, yes! It's the hunger games!

I wrote a little something. I know the world outside is like "Peeta I love you!" or "Team Gale all the way!".

But me? I have a slighlty different version in mind. Maybe if you read it, you'll understand it?

I obviously don't own the hunger games. How can you even think that?

Love love love.

Reviews are cool, yay!

1.

My name is Katniss Everdeen and - as I step into the tributes' elevator, headed towards the silent comfort of my room after such a tiring day- there is one thing I'm sure of: Johanna Mason, from district seven (filthy stares, provocative grins and a bad temper), is the last thing on my mind right now.

Well, I'd be worried if it were any different. It'd be irrational to say the least, thinking about her in my current situation. I hardly even know her, and the little I do know, I don't like.

Furthermore, there's no doubt I have a lot of more important thoughts going on in my head at the moment, and they're all fighting for my attention like kids begging for sweets.

First of all, since the announcement of the Quarter Quell, I am well aware that I'll have to go back to the arena. There's no way around it.  
>I have to admit, Snow's plan was perfect, neat, with no apparent flaws. Just like the Hunger Games...before I messed it all up with the berries. Only, this time, there'll be no berries of sorts to save me. No fake love to use as a shield.<br>It feels like something final. I am a magician with no tricks left.  
>I knew I had it coming, but our lovely President managed to surprise me anyway. Unpredictable: he'd make such a good hunter. Well, in a way, he is. And I am his prey.<br>It's not like I am fixated on this thought about the arena 24/7. I do things, say things, worry about things, I eat and I sleep - at least I try to. But the knowledge that I will, eventually, have to go back, stays with me even when I am not focusing on it. Even when, disturbed by nightmares of what happened and what's to come, I am not completely conscious. It's even more difficult not to think about it, now that I am in the Capitol, where it all started, ready for another round. It's a matter of days, really. Training is -more than ever- a formality. I'd skip it if I could.  
>The arena, though, -or the idea of it- is with me, every hour of every day, like an old friend, or better, a persistant enemy. It's a reality I can't escape, as hard as a stone, as shiny as metal.<br>Like the fact that the sky is blue, the grass is green, and when you cut yourself you bleed, I know I have to go back to the arena. This is such a heavy burden to carry it's hard to forget it's is there in the first place.  
>It's not that I'm afraid to die.<br>Well - at one point of course I was. And I still am, a little. But not like the first time. Nothing can compare. The first time, I was terrified. And fear is good, because it means you are alive and you want to keep it that way as long as possible. It means you are in for a fight.  
>The lack of fear tells me I am somewhat accepting my fate. And it's okay, really. I just don't want Peeta to die, and that's something I can focus on.<br>Hopefully, so will Haymitch.  
>But, as far as my life is concerned, I said my goodbyes the moment Effie pulled out my name for the second time at the reaping. I remember how she looked so defeated herself, indirectly showing how my survival was never really a believable option.<br>I will always love Prim, and Gale, and my mother, and of course I miss them like crazy and there's a dull ache right where my heart is supposed to be. But it feels like I've already lost them. They are so far away in District 12 and I can only hope they'll manage to live without me, stay safe, and remember about me what's good enough to be remembered.  
>Right now, while I'm stepping into the elevator with Peeta and Haymitch, it's not death that scares me. It's not Prim, who I know has grown into a beautiful smart woman, or Gale, who I'm certain will find someone that'll love him the way he deserves to be loved.<br>What scares me is the fact that I can't remember a time when I did something just because I could. Just because I wanted so badly to. Just because I chose to.  
>To choose.<br>Not out of calculation, or obligation, or fear. Not because it's the last and only option you have. Not because if you don't, someone you love is gonna get hurt.  
>To choose, freely. Between more options, without fearing the consequences.<br>I vaguely remember how empowering that is.  
>Too choose.<br>Surely, a luxury a tribute doesn't have.  
>And, especially in my case, "once a tribute, always a tribute".<br>I will be in the arena for the second time in a row because Snow decided it was the best way to end both me and the uprising I apparently caused. The same uprising I didn't even intend to cause. Someone picked me as a symbol of a ribellion, but I am not a rebel myself. At least, I didn't have the chance to really think about it with a clear mind. Time to choose.  
>The berries. Was it choosing? Was it an act of rebellion?<br>I was barely trying to keep us alive and get us both out of that hell.  
>And in a different arena, in a few days...yes, I will kill people, like I eventually did in my first games, but because I have instincts and because that means giving Peeta a chance to win this thing and live on. Not because I choose to. Not because I want to.<br>You could say that saving Peeta is something I choose, something I want to do. It's not, really. It is just the way I have to play, it's not an option. It just has to be him, for so many reasons. In my mind, it's not a decision, it's just another fact. It isnt even because I'm in love with him. To say my feelings towards him are conflicted is an understanding. But, among the doubts I'll never be able to solve, deep down I know I'll never love him the way a wife is supposed to love his husband. The way my father loved my mother.  
>Because he chose to, he was free enough to love her. It was easy and right, smooth and as it should be, something that I'll never have with Peeta. Maybe I could have it with Gale, maybe not, but now it's too late and the games have spoiled even that. Another decision Snow stole away from me.<p>

Even when it all began, when I volounteered to save Prim's life...I can't think about it like it was a decision. For me, it was a necessity. It was my blood screaming at me to do it, and me listening to it.

So yeah, choosing. It'd be nice for a change.

That's what I'm thinking as I start to press the bottom that will take me to the 12th floor.  
>I am Katniss Everdeen, and I'm thinking about being free to choose, about how I miss that, and Johanna Mason, from district seven, is the last thing on my mind. But then, just as the doors of the elevator are closing, she steps in.<p>

In the elevator and in my mind. Without warning and without being invited.

At first, I am so annoyed. I am tired, and the last thing I need is her, postponing with her interruption the prospective of a full belly and a sweet reunion with the warmness of my bed. Well, I guess we'll have to share the elevator with her.  
>But she's staring at me, hard. That alone makes me uncomfortable.<br>She says something unpleasant about her stylist, which I don't really get, cause I'm crap at girl-talk, but mostly because her eyes are glowing too much and they distract me. They are cat-like. I wonder if she's able to see in the dark because it looks like she could. It looks like she can see right through MY darkness, which I know it's foolish, but that's exactly what crosses my mind.  
>I can hear me saying some stupid comment about velvet. I dont even know where that came from.<br>She's just said she wanted to rip my dress off. Wait, what? I must have heard that one wrong.  
>Then, she's turning her attention to Peeta. "How do you feel knowing the whole country wants to sleep with you now?" she asks, but her eyes are still fixated on me, so I suppose the question's for me, which it obviously isn't.<br>The conclusion is that I blush.  
>God, I am so stupid.<br>"Unzip me?".  
>She does that thing again, talking to Peeta but watching me. It's like she's studying my reactions. She's clearly amused by them, pleased even. I just want to slap her in the face. Maybe. Not too hard, though. She has a pretty face.<br>Wait, what?! Never mind.  
>I hear the zip as it goes down and I shiver. Does she plan on changing in here? Aftern a second, it's obvious that she does because she begins to undress. Slowly. Like a flame in slow motion. I can see her pale shoulders, free from the tree dress she hates so much. I can understand that being a tree is not the most comfortable thing in the world, but couldn't she wait until she was in her room? This girl has no filter and it bothers me. I don't know why. I make faces and begin fidgeting while Haymitch enjoys the view and Peeta looks like he has never seen a girl naked before. Wich, of course, he hasn't.<br>As for me, I see myslef in the mirror everyday but nothing prepared me for what I see and feel now.  
>Between the embarassment and the hardcore blushing that's going on, I find myself thinking of one thing.<p>

God, she's beautiful.

It's almost as she can hear me, because her smirk widens in a complete smile. She hasn't looked at anyone but me all this time.  
>I haven't let my eyes go past her shoulders, though.<p>

But then, it hits me.

I want to. I want to look at her. All of her. I feel like she's doing it for me. Not for Haymitch or Peeta's eyes. For my eyes. And maybe a bit for her ego too, but it doesn't matter. Because I look. Up and down. And -I realize- I choose to look. Openly. I want to. I don't bother to hide the fact the I'm enjoying it. And I fell like I'm getting fresh water after months of dehydration. For all I know, she may be made of the same materialmthe moon's made of. She's little and bright, slim but curvy, just like the moon up in the sky. Only, she's closer. Oh, so very closer than the moon. Reachable, if only...  
>And then the elevator stops and, just before vanishing, she says: "That was fun. Let's do it again, some time".<p>

That's what her words say, but her eyes and her skin are saying a completely different thing. They are adressing me and no one else.

"Follow me".

And so I do. I follow her. I want to. I choose to.

I am Katniss Everdeen and right now I am not thinking about the arena, or Peeta, or Gale, because Johanna Mason from district seven (or maybe from the moon) is the only thing on my mind.


	2. I don't feel like dying anymore

I hear the doors of the elevator closing just behind me and I must admit I panick a little, because it makes me realize there's no turning back now.

That's the thing about choices, I suppose.

They're a risky businnes. And often hard to take back. Once you've made one, you gotta stick to it. Accept the consequences.

Maybe I made the wrong one?

Maybe I misjudged the whole situation?

Johanna is still walking in front of me, naked and free from her itching dress that covered her natural beauty, but she's not bothering to wait for me, or turn, or give me some sort of sign, and that makes me uncomfortable. Also, I can't see her eyes anymore, and that leaves me in a pull of doubts.

Well, part of me is too enchanted by the movements of her hips to really feel any discomfort at all. But there's another part of me - the rational one I suppose, the one's still not completely engulfed and addicted to the simple act of watching her- that is doubtful.

What if she isn't even aware of me following her? No, it can't be.

She's a fighter, an expert one: my bet is her senses are acute and working full time, even when she's not completely focused.

The arena does that to you.

It takes you aways the possibility to just shut down. I know this because I'm a victor too, and I am aware of my sorroundings even when I'm sleeping. It's sad, really, the idea that we both can't loose control and forget about where we are.  
>That's how I know she knows there's someone behind her.<br>Of course, out of habit, my footsteps are light as feathers falling on the ground, but my breath is shaky. She must hear me breathing, I am as loud as a wounded animal.  
>She must know someone's following her, but does she know it's me?<br>Suddendly, a particularly bitter thought crosses my mind. Does she think I'm Peeta? Or worst, Haymitch? Does she even care in the first place?  
>I acted on impulse, I thought there was some kind of silent dialogue between us, but maybe it was just a monologue and she didn't mean all the things I supposed she meant. The stares, the smile, all the things she said with her eyes...what if I made it all up?<br>This thought alone should be enough to make me turn around and go back to my room, not before finding some stupid excuse for the way I acted. It should be easy, anyway, since Peeta believes to everything that falls from my mouth and Haymitch doesn't really care. I'm not even sure he noticed me stepping out of the elevator.  
>But I don't stop, I keep walking.<br>Because the thrill of the chase wins over the fear of being rejected. It's exilarating, really: as I follow her to her room, keeping a safe distance, I feel like I'm in the woods again. The world around me comes to life, the colours are brighter and I swear I can smell pines in the air.  
>I am hunting her, and I will not stop because that's just...not who I am. I'll either win or loose, and then start again. In this case, since I'm not in a typical District twelve situation, loosing won't mean having nothing to bring home to eat. It'll probably mean I'll make a fool of myself. The way I see it, there's no difference.<br>Maybe the fact that no matter what happens, I'll be dead in a few days, is what makes me so careless. But I don't really think that my future and certain death fully explains my behaviour.  
>It' something less philosopic than that carpe diem bullshit.<br>It can be the fact that she is, undoubtly, sexy as hell. And I am surprised by my very own thoughts, but I know they speak the truth. Yes, she is beautiful, and tempting. And I am not blind. But it's not just a physical thing.  
>It's about heart, and home, and longing.<br>I know what it is, the force that crushes all my good judgment and destroys any worry of being totally out of line. The force that pulls me towards her. It's not a force in the scientific sense.  
>It's a smell.<br>That smell of pines and mud and cold winter breeze, the one I smelled before...I realize it's her.  
>She smells like my woods. Suddenly my heart is so full it might as well explode.<br>I feel sad and happy at the same time. And that -as confusing as it is- it's more than enough to destroy all the walls I carefully builded. There's no reason for me to turn back when her smell gently invites me in.  
>I surrender to it like you surrender to the most pure form of affection.<br>I surrender.  
>When did the roles reversed? I'm not a hunter anymore...<br>But then we're at her door and there's no more time left to think, since there's barely a step between us and the smell is so strong it clouds my judgement. I feel every control I had left slip away. I feel like I'm floating. Like a forgotten Katniss before my first games.  
>We are both still and silent. I wonder if she feels the same. I hope she does, it's such a new feeling. Like finding yourself again after ages of darkness.<br>When she speaks, my last doubts about having misjudged the meaning of her stares vanish. She says the only thing that is able to make the situation more perfect, if that is even possible. She says my name.  
>"Katniss".<br>It's soft, not at all like the Johanna I know. She doesn't adress me as the girl on fire? She doesn't call me sweetheart like Haymitch does. Or Catnip.  
>It's just Katniss.<br>And that's how I know. That's how I know she felt it to. No hint of doubt in her voice. It's not a question, she's not asking "Katniss? Is it you?".  
>She is letting me know she wanted it to be me. She hoped it was.<br>So I take a step forward and open the door for her.  
>She steps in.<br>I follow, closing the physical gap between us by adjusting one of my hands on her bare left shoulder.  
>I don't even have time to see her room because, in a smooth movement of strong arms, I am pinned to the door. I've never felt more okay with being trapped my whole life.<br>Because finally, I see her eyes. Now that we are alone, she lets them glow without restraint.  
>"Is it real?" I ask, and I want to bite my tongue so bad, because that's just not the right thing to say. It slips out of my mouth before I can do anything about it.<br>She chuckles. Of course she does.  
>But she doesn't respond. Not with words, anyway. She just kisses me full on the lips like she wants to do it for years. It's her way of saying that yes, it is all real. Her lips are so real it hurts.<br>And maybe it was the right thing to say, after all.  
>She's careful, though. Not like I expected her to be.<br>She kisses me lightly one more time, making my head spin like crazy, then watches me. She seems scared. Her question surprises me.  
>"Are you here because you want to, or are you here because you'll be dead in a few days anyway?".<br>I smile, she frowns. Little does she know we are on the exact same page.  
>"I don't feel like dying anymore", I manage to say.<br>And then the smell hits me at full force and I kiss her like I want to do it for years.


	3. The cover of my soul

Hey! I don't know guys. Argh, this story. It feels so good and easy, to write it. I just hope it's the same with reading it.

3.

Johanna's pov

When I see her sorrounded by her flames, I gasp.

She's almost more stunning than the first time I saw her. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm not watching her from my TV anymore, this time I get to see her in person. This time I'm a witness and, dear God forgive me, but what a show.

The thing I appreciate the most about this second parade, is the way she chooses to handle it.  
>I'm not an idiot, of course. I've done it before -hell, I am doing it right now, trapped in this mess of a dress- and I know that her staff has previously told her how to act, that this is all fake, all part of a bigger strategy. Every detail is prepared, every expression, nothing is casual, not even eye-blinking.<p>

But the first time I saw her in the chariot, with all the kissing and waving and loving the crowd...I remember she didn't fool me. I knew from the start she wasn't her real self. And I could see through her immediately, and I sensed the fear underneath. She was almost radiating it, and I remember thinking she was too young and too...innocent for this madness. Strong, of course: I could see her determination, because it was a feature we had in common. But human. So very human. And in that moment I remember I silently cried over the humanity and the naivity the games would have stolen away from her. Just like they did with me. And with every single poor soul that survived the slaughter.

Now, she's still the girl on fire, but she seems more authentic, more like her true self would behave in a moment like this.  
>She simply stays in her chariot, still as a greek statue, looking straight ahead, not addressing the shouting crowd in any way. It's like she doesn't even see them. And the more she ignores them, the more they want her. People are weird.<br>It's like she's saying: I'm above this, I don't care.  
>Sassy, I like it.<br>It suits her better than that sweet-girl-madly-in-love façade she tried to pull off during the victory tour. She was as believable as my grandma in high heels.

But, just like the first time, I can see through the act. She's changed, that's for sure. She's not the scared but strong girl from Twelve anymore. Under the fire, there's a cold resignation. It's like she knows there's no way to survive, this time. She's too much of a target to make it out alive. A target for both the other tributes and the gamemakers. She's too much of a danger, too, for the Capitol, for Snow.

It's moving, nonetheless, the way she seems to accept the notion she'll be dead in a matter of days, weeks if she's lucky. Or unlucky, it depends on how you see it. She must be very well grounded if she manages to still remain sane. I would have lost it completely. Hell, I had, after what Snow did to me and to my family.  
>Under the layers of dark make up, I'm able to spot some self hate, too. That's pretty common among us victors. I wonder If she sleeps at night. If she sees the faces of those she had to kill. If there's still something, in this miserable, stinking excuse for a world, that makes her smile. It's sad, really, because I can picture it in my head: I'm sure she would have the most beautiful, sincere, stupid smile, if only there was still a reason to indulge in such luxury.<br>I know for me there isn't. I'm all grins and snarky comebacks. I gave up the smiling thing since Snow killed everybody I cared for. But enough with the sadness.

My favourite part of the evening is by far when she passes in front of President Snow just like he isn't there, not even acknowledging his presence, chin high and hard cheek bones glowing with pride. For a split second, I buy it, and she manages to convince me she doesn't see him as a threat. Just as an old, mad man who happened to watch too many reality-shows. Well played, Everdeen.  
>I have to admit it, since I know what he's capable of and since I consider him one of the most terrifying persons I've ever laid eyes on (and I'm not easily terrified), seeing her while she gives him the silent treatment...it's a big turn on.<p>

It's not like the thought bothers me. I've never been so preoccupied with labels. Truth be told, I've never been so preoccupied with anything. I feel what I feel , and that's it. I may not show it, but that's another thing.  
>I mean she's hot, that's very easy to notice, you just have to have eyes. There's no harm in admitting it, man.<br>I see her in every screen, it's so obvious the cameras are all for her, it's like they want to eat her or something, and we -the other victors- just have to stare. Tonight, with lover boy at her side, there's no competition at all. Cinna is the best. She looks from another world entirely. A goddess.  
>I wonder if this should bother me. Her, getting all the attention. It doesn't, really. It's not like it's supposed to be my night anyway. The only thing I'm really good at, it's being a bitch. And I'm awesome with my axe. It would be a waste of time, being upset over her being so hot and winning all the sponsors. I didn't need sponsors last time, I won't need them now, I have other charms, and I'd much prefere to enjoy the view.<br>That's exactly what I do, as balantly as possible. I watch her and I smirk. Smirking: one of the other things I'm good at. I excell. The cameras, they must notice. Leave it to them to understand what's the meaning behind my behaviour.

The thing that really bothers me is that, when the show is finally over, I am not over her.

I'm left with a strange desire to know more. To see more, taste more.

Like someone who's just been at a feast but has not managed to satisfy the hunger.

I've been trying to feel numb and look indifferent for such a long time that, for a moment, the honesty of my desire surprises me. My skin tingles. I'm alive. I don't care why it happens, it's too good to over-think it. The only suggestion my mind has for me is: act on it.  
>And so I do.<br>Driven by my instinct only, I catch them in the elevator, and I step in. In the back of my head I know that -by playing with the girl on fire- I'll eventually get burnt.  
>But it's been so long since I felt something this powerful, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Or so I tell myself.<p>

She's adorable, all flustered and made uneasy by my verbal violence and my total lack of filters. Maybe I should worry about the fact that I just described her as adorable and that's just a word I don't use, but I am having too much fun to mind.  
>I want to play with her head a little, so I still look at her while I talk to lover boy. It seems to work, she's overwhelmed enough.<br>And then I'm naked. Not that it was never a problem, I've always been confident with my body.

At first, she doesn't even have the courage to look. I can see how she's making the effort not to make her eyes go under my neck. I am taken aback by her behaviour. I find it strangely respectful, almost child-like.

Then, I don't know what crosses her mind, but something in her eyes changes, it's like a fire that begins to burn in the darkness of the woods, and she's not so scared and innocent now. She decides to take what I offered, and she looks.

But when I see how she looks at me...that's when it's not just a game anymore.  
>She doesn't look at me like I'm a body you'd want to own.<br>She admires me. Takes her time to study me. Every single detail. For the first time, I really feel naked. Almost embarassed by the intensity of her stares, but above all fluttered. Her attention is like honey on my tongue and in my nostrils. It's almost too much, I am not used at being looked at like she does.

Like I'm beautiful.

Like I deserve the world.

Like I'm a good person.

Like I can be saved.

Her eyes are the cover of my soul, and I am suddendly so warm...when we arrive at the 7th floor, I don't want this journey to end. I am not ready to say goodbye.  
>I think of something ironic to say, and I come up with "That was fun, let's do it again sometimes".<br>I hope she understands these words are not for her. After all, even though I've completely ignored the pair, we both know we're not alone in the elevator. I am not free to say what I really want to.

But I hope...god, I really hope she understands.


	4. Now you're you

There's a brief moment, after I walk out of the elevator, during which a sad realization hits me like a wave.

"Well, this is it", I think. It's finished. I wasn't quick or brave enough to say something to her, something that would have made her understand my real intentions. My heart's been switched off for years, covered by a thick layer of dust, no wonder I'm so slow with feelings and words to express them.

What did I say instead?

"Let's do it again sometimes".

Did I fall from a tree when I was a child? Am I so stupid I coudn't possibly find something better to say? I've never been to good with words, so I wasn't expecting for something impossibly poetic to casually slip from my lips. Even a simple "see you at training" would have been less shitty, though. Sometimes I think it would be best if I didn't have a tongue. I'd have to communicate with body language, but it would certainly spare me a lot of trouble.  
>I'm an idiot, now it's over, and the warmness of her eyes will be forever missed. Because, before today, I didn't know it existed, and you can't miss something you don't know. But now that I know it does exist and it's not mine, I'm more lonely than ever, trapped and useless, forever trying to catch smoke with my hands and repeatedly failing.<br>It's like the remorse you feel when you meet someone you don't really know, but for whatever reason you are intrigued, and you would like to stop them and talk to them about everything and nothing at the same time, from their favourite ice cream flavor to their biggest fear, but then they're gone and you don't even have their name to cherish.  
>It's that feeling you get when you spot in the crowd a beautiful stranger and you don't have the guts to introduce yourself.<br>Only, with Katniss as the beautiful stranger, it's one hundred times more heartbreaking. Because, from tomorrow on, she won't be a stranger anymore, just another enemy to fight.

It's a brief moment, but it's so intense and painful I don't have air in my lungs anymore. It's a punch that leaves me defeated and crushed. I taste blood in my mouth and I realize I can't stop biting my tongue. Should have done that earlier, Johanna. Brilliant.

"Maybe I can speak to her in training tomorrow", I think, in a flicker of hope...but really, I know I lost my chance. And with girls like Katniss Everdeen, you are lucky if you even get one.

I'll have to spend the night dealing with it.

Then the wave that hit me passes, and I regain my lucidity, and my ability to hear noises - lost in my momentary despair - comes back as well.

I can feel her behind me as I walk, and that's when I breath again.

I feel like doing some kind of lame victory-dance, screaming and throwing my fists in the air. Except I doubt it would be appropriate. After all, I'm still naked.

So she did follow me. Thank God she'smarter than me, and better at making quick decisions.

We're in this together...whatever it is.  
>It will not remain something in my head, some sort of story I made up. It's concrete, like that breath I hear she's struggling to control.<br>I try to keep walking at a steady pace, without showing how I am crumbling internally, how she's inlfuencing my body's ability to function even from afar, and I think I'm doing a good job. I'm good at hiding emotions, keeping them to myself. It took me years of training and hidden tears and utter solitude, yeah. But now I can. My face is unreadable, most of the time, and my movements never rushed.  
>That's why, on the outside, I am the living image of calmness.<br>She might even think I don't know she's there. Of course I know she is. I am aware of every little noise around me, my ears are as precious as my eyes. I came to learn this truth in the arena.

Inside, though, I'm freaking out. A lot. And I don't like it, it makes me feel weak and vulnerable.  
>I want to wait for her, turn around, see if she's really following me, like Orpheus did with Euridyce, but something tells me I shouldn't.<br>I know it's not rational, but I am afraid that if I turn, something bad's gonna happen, and our little, peaceful bubble is going to explode, causing damages that can't be fixed. After all, Orpheus looked back to see if his lover was following him and this was the very cause of Eurydice's death. And I wouldn't wish that kind of burden to my worst enemy. So I don't look.

Still, it's hard not to. I want to hold her hand, let my mask fall down, and ask her: "What now?". I want her to know I'm scared, just like everybody else, and I'm so tired of pretending I'm not.  
>But I'm not Orpheus, I'm Johanna, and I am stronger than that. I wonder if I'll be that strong once we arrive to my room. That confident. I wonder if being strong is always an advantage or there are times when I could use a little weakness.<p>

I wish this short distance currently separating us from my room was never ending. I wish time would stop and leave us freezed into this moment. And at the same time, since I seem to have lost any logical sense, I wish I could make us move faster so that we could finally reach that freaking door. Not there's a risk someone sees us. They know I don't like to have people around, they learned i to leave me alone. It'd be different if we were in Katniss' apartments. With Peeta, Haymitch and Effie...I bet they never leave her alone. Me, I fought for my privacy, so we are pretty safe here.

Still, I want to hide her in my room and never leave her again. Make that room our world because the one we live in is such a mess it makes my head ache. That's my most pressing wish right now.

I wonder if she'd be okay with my little plan?

I am not so sure of myself anymore. And, obviously, that's precisely when I'm forced to stop. The universe must hate me.  
>We're here, and I had all the time to plan my next move, but now my head feels like a white blank page and I don't know what to do. I don't know what she wants from me. Sex? A distraction? As surprising as it sounds to my own ears, it's not enough for me.<br>I begin to question her true motives...

She's so close I can feel her body heat. It comes in waves like a balm on my naked back. And I wish she'd take the lead now. Because I can't decide on my next move. So I do the only thing I can do. I search for her reassurance. I say her name.

"Katniss".

It feels so good to acknowledge her presence. My voice is raw with emotion. But it doesn't break, and I'm glad.

I see her hand moving, she opens the door for me. It's an invitation. I still don't know what's her point of view, but I am determinated to find out.

When I feel her palm on my shoulder, though, I loose it. I explode in goosebumps, tiny little circles of them on my skin, like my shoulder was I lake and her hand a stone.  
>My body takes control over my mind and I pin her to the wall.<br>She's completely dressed, while my nakedeness turns out to be a painful sweetness, because without clothes every touch ignites a fire. Everything is amplified.

"Is this real?".

I laugh, nervously but open-heartedly.

And then I kiss her.

I may still don't know her reasons, but I do know mine.

I kiss her because the closeness is too much and you could cook an egg on my skin - that's how much I'm burning. Because maybe this will be the only chance I get and I don't want to condemn myself to a life of what ifs. So I accept the risk that the kiss could hold for me a whole different meaning. Because I have no words left, she stole them all. Because it's the best way to make her understand.

I'm gentle, shy even. But this doesn't mean I don't put all myself in it. I am tempted by her neck, but I stop myself. Because, before we take this any further, I need to know...

"Are you here because you want to, or are you here because you'll be dead in a few days anyway?".

I let my fear show. If this is just a thing she plans on using as a distraction, some kind of last moment of lightness before the inevitable will happen...my heart breaks at the thought. It would be sadly ironic, really. For the first time in years it's not about sex for me, I've finally found the courage to surrender to a deeper connection, even though the timing couldn't be more wrong...and maybe all she wants is sex. It's a possibility. A good time before the madness begins. A warm body to forget for an hour or so that she might as well be dead.  
>I don't want it to be about bodies. I want it to be about souls.<br>I have to know this is not her reason. I have to know. It can't be.  
>If she's driven by despair only, then I don't want this. I don't want our time together to be a fruit of desperation. When for me, on the contrary, it would mean nothing but salvation.<p>

She smiles and I'd really like to slap her (doesn't she understand how serious this is for me?) but then comes her simple reply.

"I don't feel like dying anymore". And it's enough to know relief it's not her only purpose.

So we begin...slow dancing in a burning room.

At first, my kisses are still careful and clean. Almost chast. I am trying not to lose control because I know I am almost animalistic when I do, and, given her lack of experience, I don't want to scare her away with my eagerness. I want us to start by building a slow, safe flame, not by carelessly igniting a raging fire that would burn the place down.

But then her hands...oh, her hands are being bolder. They seem to have a different project in mind. And there's nothing safe about it. I feel them everywhere. On my stomach, on my back, tracing the curve of my hipbones. I am surprised by their steadiness.  
>This is an unfair battle...I'm naked, she's got her clothes on as protection. I feel her fingertips on my left breast as she moves her mouth to my neck.<br>Yes, this is such an unfair battle and I can't decide if I'm loosing or winning...or both.  
>She wants me to react. She can sense I'm holding back and she looks...hurt by my behavior? Does she think I don't want her?<br>In this case...I am happy to oblige.  
>I take her in my arms, she gulps in surprise and puts her legs around my waist as I move her to the bed. I undress her, taking away the flames from her, because I want us to be on the same level. She's way too dressed to be on mine.<p>

When I finish, I watch her under me.

Her body is a sculpture. Defined but soft muscles, perfect, rounded breasts. Even her ankles are magnificent, I swear.  
>She's breathing faster now, causing a million waves to shake the sea of her body. She'a storm, and I don't have a life belt, but I don't care. I'll swim until I have no energy left and then I'll happily drown.<br>I trap her under my body, collapsing into her. Skin on skin, it's a bliss.  
>That's when I hear it. A long, heavenly moan.<br>It brings me to the edge of madness.  
>I'm like Ulysses with the sirens, but I forgot to secure myself to the ship with my ropes. I doubt there's a rope strong enough to confine me in the limits of my body.<br>It all happens in a blur.  
>I touch her everywhere and the more I touch the more I want to. I realize I'm doomed and there will be no end to this exploration. Only other lands to discover. The islands that are her eyes, the cliff that is her chin, the beach that is her back. She's the only arena I wanna be in. She's an entire, unknown world and now that I have found it I want to live in her forever.<br>But then, I realize I'm getting too carried away.  
>She's moaning under me, but I can find a glimpse of fear in her eyes.<br>She's conflicted. She wants me to go on but she's afraid. I know the feeling, I respect it because I respect her. It's not right. It would feel like stealing something from her. Not the best way to begin our journey.  
>So I slow down. I remove my burning hands from her thighs. I lazily kiss her, I kiss every stupid little spot I find, I don't want anything to remain untouched. I claim her in her integrity. Her wrists. Her pulse point. The tip of her nose.<br>She giggles.  
>She's not afraid anymore. She knows I understand. She's so happy I don't mind. There's no rush in my mind. I mean, there should be, because we'll both be in the arena in a few days. But there's no such thing as time inside this room, inside this bed. We left it outside. And it's okay, for now.<p>

Now that I'm more lucid, I can sense that something is bothering me.  
>It's her make up.<br>We haven't had the opportunity to wash our faces yet. Not that she isn't stunning, with heavy eye liner and eyelashes that go on forever.  
>But I'm taken by this sort of urgency to see her, truly and without filters, under those layers of fake beauty she doesn't need.<br>And since I can't see her dressed in everyday's clothes, hunting the woods of district twelve...  
>"Katniss?".<br>"Hmmm?" she hums, as I pepper her neck with kisses.  
>"Can we do something?".<br>"Aren't we doing something? I don't know about you but I'm pretty busy at the moment" she says, and to make her point she takes one of my nipples in her mouth.  
>I have keep my self from fainting.<br>I let her do this to me for about a minute, then I bring it up another time because I know I won't be able to, later.  
>"Come on, follow me" I say, and I jump from the bed to the floor in a single, swift movement.<br>She's startled by my sudden absence but then she lazily gets up and follows me to the bathroom.  
>When I begin ti splash my face with the water running from the sink, she doesn't hide her confusion. Her puzzled expression is priceless.<br>"You stopped what was going on in that comfy bed of yours to wash your face? Are you crazy, woman? Am I that bad?".  
>I laugh at her reaction, she's so sincere and it's a nice change from the fake atmosphere that reigns in the capitol. That just renforces my goal to see her without make up.<br>"Yes. And you are not bad at all. I stopped because you...stink!" I say, spashing cool water all over her face.  
>She takes a breath because of the unexpected cold, and then tries to seem offended. She doesn't do a very good job. I can see her trying to conceal her smile under that funny frown of hers.<p>

She's beautiful and carefree, which causes my face to turn serious. Not the sad kind of serious, the "I have to do something important now" kind.  
>She knows it - she's very good at reading my expressions, I notice.<br>So she let me. She let me wash her face until she's free from make-up.  
>Until I can see every freckle. I kiss them and, in an embarassed whisper, I say: "Now you're you".<br>She's moved by my actions now that she discovered their hidden meaning.  
>And then, with a gentleness I had long forgotten, she wash my face just as I did.<br>When she's finished, she looks me in the eyes and says: "Now you are you, too".


	5. Goodbye

Hey guys, sorry I've been slower. I did some thinking about the plot. I think I know where I'm going with this.

Enjoy and review, so I can know if I'm doing at least something right:)

We don't go any further.

As strange as that sounds, I'm not upset about it. I'm glad.  
>It's not about Katniss' inexperience anymore. It's about mine, really.<br>I am so not ready to have sex with her after what happened. Because it wouldn't be just sex anymore.  
>It would be...I don't even want to think about it. Let's just say it would hold a meaning that goes beyond the mere physical act of having sex. And I am totally unprepared for that. So I am the unexperienced one now, and I'm thankful she doesn't push it.<p>

That thing that happened in the bathroom...I don't know where it came from. Normally, I wouldn't let myself be so sincere or open about my emotions with anyone.  
>It's who I am.<br>Well, to be correct, it's who I've become.  
>I've always been shy about expressing my emotions, yes, but it's not like I was a stone either. I had feelings.<br>Now, though, I don't openly talk about them, fearing that it would only make me weak. And I started to use irony instead of words of affection, as a defense. When things get too intense for my liking, I'm not comfortable. So I usually stop before they even have the time to get too intense.  
>I can't remember the last time I hugged someone. Okay, maybe I do, but I don't want to, because remembering would open a door that no key could ever lock. It took me a long time, but I eventually taught myself how to be in control of my emotions. How to avoid them. How to not feel them. It was more of a necessity than a choice. It was my way to stay alive.<br>Numbness has been my refuge ever since. It has come to the point where, if I meet someone that catches my attention, or with whom I seem to share a special bond, I just run away. I willingly avoid relationships of any kind, just so that I can't to get too attached.

"Hey, I really think you are funny, and interesting. Maybe it's best if we don't see each other anymore".  
>That's literally how my mind works.<p>

The only person with whom the running away/being a bitch strategy didn't work was Finnick. He was too stubborn and too smart to buy it. Maybe he was also as lonely as I was. And I'm glad because he's the one who kept me from becoming just a hollow shell of a person. He's the one who kept me sane.  
>But even with him, I'm not affectionate. I mean, he's my best friend and I'm not even sure I've ever said to him that I love him. When he says it to me, I usually punch him. He knows that's my way to say "me too". But I really do love him, especially because me punching him doesn't keep him from saying it.<p>

So yeah, the bathroom thing, that was completely unexpected and it left me overwhelmed. Because I let my feelings show. And that doesn't happen. It doesn't happen with Finnick, and I've known him for years.  
>It sure as hell shouldn't happen with Katniss. But it did, even though I barely know her. That was a typical "run away, Johanna!" situation.<p>

But, for some reason I'm not ready to acknowledge, I didn't run away...

...and I'm glad I didn't.

Also, since I've made a hobby out of being so unpleasant to people, hoping they woud eventually take the hint and leave me the hell alone, I am so not used to be treated like I am an actual human being.  
>I am not used to feelings, but, more than that, I am completely rubbish when it comes to being the object of someone's gestures or words of affection.<br>I don't remember how that works.  
>My father died when I was six, and after his death my mother was too preoccupied with finding a way to keep us all alive that she didn't have the time to be affectionate. Not that I balme her, she did what she had to do. She fed me. She gave me a house. Taught me to be tough. She was my rock, and I loved her.<p>

That doesn't change or justify the fact that my cheeks still burn because of her hands.  
>Katniss' touch lingers on my skin in the sweetest way possible. So gentle, so caring. I forgot how warm a loving hand can be, how such a simple gesture can hold such an infinite amount of affection.<br>Knowing that the hand belonged to Katniss...it makes my head spin. I feel dizzy.

That's why, while we keep staring at each other, naked, both free from make up and in the middle of my bathroom, I am too scared to kiss her and too happy to move. I don't know if it makes any sense, but that's how I feel.

So I just stare.

Then, when I feel that if I look at her one more second I'm either going to consume her or fall in love with her (and both things are dangerous) I take her hand and we return to bed.

From that moment on, I just hold her.

What I don't realize, at least not right away, is that holding her is even more dangerous that having sex with her.  
>It's the final proof that I care.<p>

At first, it's just an arm around her waist. I can live with that. But then she gets closer. Her legs around me, her head on my shoulder. I forget the difference between her skin and mine.  
>I cover us with a soft blanket and I enjoy this personal, unexpected heaven I seem to have conquered. I didn't even have to fight for it, kill somebody. I almost pinch myself: it's too easy to be true...<p>

I wake up in the middle of the night. I look at the clock, and that almost causes me to have a heart attack.

It's 4 am in the morning.

"Shit".

We must have fallen asleep.

"Shit, shit, shit".

I'm panicking. It's four am and she's still here. They can't find us, they can't know. I mean, she is supposed to be in love with Peeta. It's hard to believe she is, with her sleeping in my bed and all...  
>She has to go, now.<br>As peaceful as she looks, I have to wake her up.  
>"Katniss. Katniss, wake up". I gently shake her shoulder, and it seems to be enough. She opens her eyes slowly, sleep still in them, making them foggy and unfocused.<p>

"Johanna? Why did you wake me? Go back to sleep. You are so comfy".  
>For a moment, I forget the gravity of the situation and I just laugh at her comment. She's something else, really.<br>"As much as I love to be your pillow, brainless, and believe me I do, you have to go", I say, stroking her cheek with my thumb, just because I can. And because I'm realizing I won't be able to, later,  
>"But I don't want to" she protests, and that's when I notice how young she looks.<br>"Katniss, I'm being serious here. You have to go and be in your bed before they wake you. Imagine how it would look like, if you didn't return for breakfast and just go to training...with me. What would people think? What would Peeta say?". I hate to say this, but I know it's the truth. The consequences would be disastrous. For both of us, though it's her I'm more worried about.  
>"But I don't care about him, Jo..." she mumbles. Then, faster than a lightning, I watch her as the realization hits her.<br>"Peeta" she says. And, surprising both me and herself, she adds "Shit".  
>That makes me giggle like a girl, I'm almost ashames of the sounds I'm making.<br>"Didn't know you had it in you to curse, girl on fire. You've been spending way too much time with me lately. Not that I'm complaining", I say with a smile.  
>"What time is it?" She asks, now fully awake and very alarmed.<br>"4 am. We must have fallen asleep. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you trouble...but I am not sorry you stayed though". My face is serious when I add the last part. I want her to know I'm not sorry about us, and I'll never be. There are a lot of things running through my mind right now, but regret is not one of them.  
>She half-shakes her head half-smiles, as she gets up. The bed feels suddendly cold without her.<br>"What now? I just...go?"she asks. But I don't really hear her, since I'm too busy watching her naked body. She must notice because she's louder when she says: "Johanna. I need you to focus. What now?".  
>I shake my head in order to clean my head. God, she really does things to me...<br>"Now you go. You can borrow one of my shirts. Remember to take the dress with you. And it's essential that nobody sees you. You'll have to be extra careful Katniss, otherwise...".  
>"Okay" she nods. She doesn't need me to finish. She knows.<br>"Last drawer" I say to her, as she pick up her dress and her things.  
>In ten seconds, she's ready to leave, wearing a grey old t shirt of mine and a tormented expression that makes my heart ache. But it's not the time to be emotional.<br>"Maybe it wasn't such a great idea, letting you wear my stuff...".  
>"How so?" she asks "It's not like anyone will ever know it's yours. Besides, i like it. It smells good". She blushes as she admits to like how I smell. I have to keep myself from jumping her.<br>"It's not about that, brainless" I say, and my voice is an octave lower.  
>She just has to look me in the eyes to understand.<br>In a second, her lips are on mine, and my hand is caressing her back, causing a little moan to escape from her lips.  
>I know I have to stop. But I also don't know when I'll be able to kiss her again. So I'm conflicted.<br>When we finally break apart, we're both out of breath. Her cheeks are so red they seem strawberries. I'd eat them if I could.  
>"I really have to go, yeah?" and the tone of her voice is so hopeless I'd really like to say to her that no, she can stay here.<br>But I can't. So I give her one more peck on the lips and I nod.  
>"I'll see you tomorrow at training" I add, sounding almost apologetic. It's little consolation, really. We both know we won't be able to act as freely as we'd like, with all the other tributes around. With Peeta. I shiver at the thought of lover boy.<p>

"How...?" Katniss tries to ask me but I don't let her. I know what she's going to ask and I don't like it. I don't know. I don't even want to think about it.  
>"We'll find a way, Katniss. We'll find a way" I say. I'm not sure I sound convincing, but she nods. She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.<br>She's young, yes, but she's not stupid.  
>"Remember, just be as silent as you can".<br>"I'm hunter, they wouldn't hear me if they tried".  
>I smile at her attempt to lighten the mood. She turns around.<br>"I'd hear you" I say, and it wasn't supposed to sound that desperate, but it does. She freezes for a moment. I don't know if I want her to turn. It would be harder, seeing her face again after what I said. And what it implied. I don't know if I could let her go.  
>But then she goes on, and I breath again, relieved.<br>I am still watching her from the bed when she stops just in front of the door and she whispers: "Goodbye, Johanna".  
>Then the door shuts and she's gone.<br>And I try not to think about how that goodbye sounded so final in my ears. I try to.

But I can't.

Haymitch's POV

I need a drink. God, I really, really need one.  
>My hands are shaking, it's that bad.<br>I know I promised to sober up, in order to be lucid enough to be helpful. And, up until now, I have been loyal to that promise, because I have to save those kids. I have to save her. But right now, alcohol is such a tempting idea. Because I can do all that is in my power to save them. I can try and remain sober. But they're not helping. She's not helping at all.

It's almost five am and Katniss still isn't back. I am worried sick. It's not that I don't know where she is, or who's with her.  
>Trust me, that I know.<br>One look at how she stared at her in the elevator, and I knew she was gone. I am not stupid. Plus, I am a man, and I know what kind of effect Johanna Mason can have on people. The fact that it was Katniss surprised me a little, but hey...it explains a lot. Poor Peeta, he never really stood a chance, did he?  
>I only hope she has the sense to come back. Otherwise, we're going to have to deal with serious trouble tomorrow. Or maybe a should say today.<p>

I decided to give her half an hour. Then, I would go and find her. Drag her in her room, If I had to.  
>That was half an hour ago.<br>How can she be so careless?  
>Jeez, I need a drink.<p>

I'm almost on my feet, when I hear a noise. It's nothing, really, but I know she's there. I squint my eyes and make up her silhouette in the dark. About time she showed up.  
>So she's not completely insane...good.<br>Relief is short lived, though. Because now I have to do something I'd prefer not to.  
>But I promised to save these kids. And so I do.<p>

She's still naked when she opens the door. I have to knock several times in order to make her.  
>"What the fuck do you want? It's five am, you bastard, and I'm trying to...".<p>

Then there's silence. I think she has just realized who I am.

Sbam!

The door shuts. Yeah, she definetely has.

When the door opens again, she's fully clothed. I can see the worry in her eyes even though she tries to hide it, and that makes me realize just how serious the situation is. She didn't even have to ask. She knew I was there for Katniss. Well, shit. I knew that for Katniss was serious. She would't have been that brave or daring if it weren't.  
>But for Johanna to be this involved...I think she might care too. And that makes things even more complicated.<br>She lets me in without complaining. She doesn't look like her usual self, she seems smaller. My skin tingles in discomfort. Why do I always have to be the bad guy? I wish I was drunk.  
>This is not a conversation I will enjoy. Too sober.<p>

We sit on the bed, but she keeps her distance. I decide there's no point in waiting.  
>"Johanna...whatever that was...you know you can't. It has to stop", I say.<br>She takes a deep breath in order to compose herself. Last thing she wants is break down in front of me.

Her eyes are covered by a veil when she opens them and speaks again.  
>"I know Haymitch, I know. Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. Just make it quick, please".<p>

And so I tell her.


	6. What's with the smile?

Hey there, peeps.

Let's have a little bit of Katniss now. As much as I love Johanna, I feel like I've been ignoring the girl on fire recently...

Reviews are lovely as always. :)

.

Katniss' POV

The moment I wake up, I can tell that something's missing. There's this feeling in my stomach that tells me something it's not right, but I can't quite place what it is.  
>It's when I open my eyes to see that I'm in my room alone that all the pieces come together.<br>It'not something. It's someone.

"Johanna", I whisper. I cover my mouth with a hand, but it's too late. I just did it. I whispered her name like a stupid girl with a crush.  
>Even though I'm alone in the room and no one can hear me, I blush.<br>I'm blushing way too much, recently. I can't decide if I like it or not.

Then, as the last bit of sleep abandons me, I go through a roller coaster of emotions.

At first, I'm disappointed.

I wanted her to be here. I feel like I'm missing out. The fact that she's not physically with me almost makes me think I imagined everything that happened. But then, I notice I still have her shirt on, so I calm down. I sniff the shirt because I just have to. I blush again.

That's when I realize I slept through the night without having any nightmare. I can't even remember the last time it happened.  
>She is the reason, I know it.<br>Johanna Mason, from district seven.

She is so many things.

At first, she was just the deadly warrior who convinced everybody she was too weak to be a real danger, until she dropped the act and showed no mercy with her axe.  
>The killer I had to fear.<br>The victor I had to avoid.  
>Then, she became this insanely beautiful, teasing woman who strips down in elevators like it's no big deal, causing people around her to either drool, gasp or faint. The looks she gets when she enters in a room...it's a mixture of sheer terror and pure lust. That's just how complex she is.<br>But my favourite version of Johanna so far, it's the one of the girl who kissed me like her life depended on it, and then washed my face because she wanted to see me without make up. The one who, free from make up herself, struggled to let her walls down, but then eventually did, and held me like I meant the world to her.  
>The one who cared about my safety enough to wake me up and tell me to go, even though I could see she wanted me to stay.<p>

She's the reason I slept peacefully for the first time in months. All the three versions of her are. The scary victor, the sexy woman, the loving girl. Nothing about her is to be ignored. And I am sure there are other versions of her, hidden in those deep, green pools that are her eyes, begging to be found.

I smile to myself. This is crazy. I'd like to know if I had the same effect on her.

That's when I realize I actually can ask her, because I will see her in an hour or so. It's the first day of training here in the Capitol, and I should feel angry about it, if not scared. Except I don't. I feel anxious: a good kind of anxious, though. Like when you are counting the days that divide you from something you waited for a long time. And now it's finally going to happen and you restlessly move your feet and your hands because of the exciment you can't contain.

The butterflies I feel in my stomach are short lived, though, because I remember that I can't really ask her. I can't go and say: "Hey, Johanna, did you manage to sleep through the night after we kissed for what seemed like an eternity? Do you think we could do that again?".  
>I just can't, that would be sucidal.<br>I have to act like last night never happened. I have to be in love with Peeta, in front of everyone.  
>And then, eventually, I have to die.<p>

Yesterday, it wasn't such a problem. I accepted my death like the last of a long series of sacrifices I was forced to make.

Yesterday, I had a plan. It was simple, and it didn't revolve around me.

Keep Peeta alive.

That was what I had to do.

Now I have a reason to live. Except, If I do manage to live, I won't have a reason anymore. If I live, she dies. And since she's the reason I'm willing to survive in the first place...well that's enough to give me an instant headache.

So that's how Peeta felt like, in the games last year. It's hell, how did he even managed to remain sane?

But last year, we lived. We both survived...

Yes, and look where we are now. Uprisings in the districts. President Snow ready to do anything in his power to eliminate me. And if he's powerful enough to bring us all back in the arena...  
>Who am I kidding? There's no solution to this thing.<p>

So now I'm desperate. And hopeless.

But I also feel so warm, and new...I don't want to think there is no hope left. I refuse to. Not today, when I can still taste her in my mouth. When even the prospective of breakfast with Effie is somehow tolerable, just because I know I'll see her again.  
>Maybe she has a plan. Maybe there's something we can do. After all, she promised. When I asked her (or tried to), that's what she said...<p>

"We'll find a way, Katniss. We'll find a way".

She's so smart, maybe she sees something I don't see.  
>I embrace my newly discovered naivity, and willingly so. Like an old friend whose existence I had forgotten about.<br>Yes. I choose to believe there's something we can do.  
>I choose to believe that it can't end like this.<br>Not when we've just started.  
>Not when I've discovered why I couldn't decide between Peeta and Gale. Because the answer is neither of them, and I didn't know I was allowed to say it. Now I wanna scream it from the top of a rooftop.<p>

Neither. Of. Them.

Not when I've finally found a reason to stay alive. A reason that turns every second I get into a gift. Today, more than ever, I need time. I need it like you need water: desperately.  
>I need time to get to know her better. Time to know her story, her family, her roots.<br>I want to drink every word she says, when she passionately talks about her goals, her weaknesses, her loves, her losses.  
>I want her voice to be my favourite song, the first sound I hear in the morning, the last one in the evening.<br>I want to know her flaws as well as her perks.  
>I need time to explore the wanderland that is her body. I want her to be the thing I'm good at. I want to know her body, claim her body, celebrate it, consume it, rebuild it, and then start again. I want to be there as she gets old. Kiss her wrinkles, assure her that she's never been more beautiful.<br>I want to get to know her so that I can be brave enough to make love to her without fear. I want her to be the first, the last, the only.  
>And I want her to know me as well as I know her. I want to fight with her. Scream at her out of frustration because she's being so stubborn. Then apologize.<br>I want her to meet Prim. I want her to see the woods where I grew up.  
>I want us to have time.<br>Because if I feel so much after just a night spent with her, what would a lifetime be like?  
>So I choose to have time.<br>As I get out of my bed, dressing myself in comfy clothes, but keeping her shirt, seeing her again is the only thing that matters.

Peeta's already dressed too, and he's having breakfast, a neutral expression on his face. Good. I like neutral. I can work with that. Effie is with him, talking like there's no tomorrow. Haymitch is too tired to even listen or throw some snarky comment at her.  
>Weird. With the two of them, mornings are always...eventful.<br>He seems to have had a sleepless night. Maybe it's because of the alcohol. It must be hard for him - giving up the habit and all.  
>Peeta's eyes are on me immediately. He lights up, but then he seems to remember something unpleasant, and that is enough to turn his smile into a frown.<br>"Hey. You awake. Where have you been?" he asks, his tone almost inquisitive.  
>I freeze. Does he know something? No, it's impossible.<br>"What do you mean? I was...in my room". I sit down, trying to appear as calm as I can. Easier said than done.  
>"I know you were, but I mean you didn't return with us yesterday. So I was wondering..what made you stop at 7th?".<br>"Oh. You mean that...I...I just wanted Johanna Mason to know how inappropriate her behaviour in the elevator was". I hope I sound believable when I say this, because in my head I don't.  
>"You are so innocent, Katniss". That's his comment. All he has to say. I would be offended, but I'm too relived he bought it to care.<br>"That girl has no manners" affirms Effie, nodding somehow solemnly, like she's delivering an absolute truth. Someone must have told her what happened.

And that's when I know I did it. I fooled them. Haymitch seems too focused on the goal of not falling asleep to care. My guess is he didn't even hear our conversation.  
>Peeta starts drinking a hot chocolate, while Effie is saying something nobody cares about.<br>I relax in my chair.  
>"So, ready to go to training?" I ask Peeta, and I realize I'm bouncing like a mad woman, but I can't keep myself from moving.<br>"What's with the smile?" he asks. I can see why he's so confused, I'm usually not this cheerful in the morning.  
>"Oh, I just slept well" I say.<br>"That's the right attitude". Effie smiles at me like a proud mother.  
>If only she knew...<br>"So Haymitch" begins Peeta "any advice for the first day of training?".  
>"No, not in particular..." he says, and his voice is still so husky with sleep "just have a look around, will you? Speak to people. See if there is someone you'd like to allign with. Avoid district one and two".<br>"So we are looking for alliances, this time? I thought it was just the two of us". I am surprised.  
>I confess, though, the first thing that pops in my mind is that I want Johanna as an ally.<br>"Yeah. These games are different. The only thing that hasn't changed is...you two are in love. So stay together. Work as a team. You understand me?".  
>Peeta nods, but I can't seem to shake the idea that he's talking to me.<p>

After all, Peeta doesn't have to act, he's already in love with me, so it's pretty normal I am Haymitch's main concern. Except there's something in his eyes that scares me. It's like he can perceive I'm changed.  
>But I am being paranoid...<br>So I nod and I follow them out of our apartment, in the elevator, down to the training, sweating palms and heavy breath.

When I see her, my heart skips a beat.


	7. Why am I not Katniss anymore?

Hey guys. Sorry I haven't updated recently. I hope this chapter is enough for you to forgive me. It's a bit longer than usual, so...enjoy ;)

Ps. Reviews make my day. Don't be afraid to tell me what you like or don't like. It is indeed useful to know! :3 love you

Chapter 7 -Why am I not Katniss anymore?

The training center is clearly not as full as it should be: at least half of the victors are still missing. Maybe they're not even planning on showing up, though I suppose they will all have to, at some point.  
>It's because of some kind of rule, I think.<br>Except the fact that, when I find out there's not even a speech planned for this morning, I am not so sure rules matter anymore. I guess that when the cameras aren't watching, we're just going to skip some of the unnecessary formalities, since we all know how it works and we all know how it ends.

Maybe we are just pretty much free to come and go as we please...

This new freedom should leave me feeling satisfied or relieved, but it doesn't, beacuse it implies the fact that this training thing is like an old routine for us...and I don't like it.

I don't like it because I can't deny it's the truth.

I do know how it works.

I do know how it ends.

The few victors already in the room are all busy with some activity but, just like some sort of magnet, she's the first one I notice.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she is naked, again.

The sight causes me to stop dead and I let go of Peeta's hand immediately: touching him now would feel too much like a betrayal.

Johanna is oiled up and ready to wrestle. Focused. She doesn't even see me when I walk in. She's already in fighting mode. Tensed muscles, clenched jaw. Unaware of her sorroundings.

This woman will be the death of me, it's like she's doing it on purpose...

"I guess it's an habit, then".

I hear Peeta's voice in my ear, I know he's talking but I swear I can't concentrate on the words right away. It takes me some time to understand the meaning behind them and then come up with something coherent to say.

When I do find the words, they're pretty pathetic.

"Yeah. Unbelievable".

I'm glad he seems to take my reaction as disapprovement. Like he believes I am so upset or embarassed that I can't speak.  
>I just let him talk as I try to control my breath.<p>

"Don't let her intimidate you" he says, and I really have to keep myself from laughing at him now.

Is this the idea he has of me?

A little, innocent girl who's killed people because she was forced to, but who is still naive enough to be bothered by the sight of a naked body?

Is he in love with me beacuse he sees me like that? Like some sort of innocent, untouchable creature to be protected from being provoked? He's not in love with me, but with the idea he has of me.

Some girls would find this romantic, I find it offending.

Besides, it's not like he is more experienced, or something. This is ridiculous. He's the oblivious one. I just want to shake him and scream: "How can you not see it? Isn't it obvious?".  
>But I let him think he has it all figured out, because otherwise I would't know how to justify myself...and the staring.<p>

"So...where do you want to start?".

His sudden question causes me to finally advert my eyes from a very naked Johanna. What I find is a pretty tense but focused Peeta, ready to charm the victors with his right words and his humble personality. He's completely unaware that my skin still tingles beacuse of what I just witnessed.

So for the first time, I really take a look around. I do a quick scan of the room, careful to avoid Johanna because I need to be calm for this. I'll find a way to approach her later. And hopefully she'll be more...dressed. Because otherwise...I don't know how much self control I have left.

The training center hasn't changed that much. There are more stations than last year, but since old habits die hard the ones with weapons are still the most crowded with victors, all eagers to try them.

"Only this time they know how to use them", I think, as I see Enobaria cutting the air with her sword with such elegance you would think it's a feather and not a heavy peace of metal.

Brutus is close to her, throwing spears so fast I barely can see his hands.

I shiver.

Not my first choices when it comes to allies. Her teeth scares me to death and he has a look in his eyes like he would kill his own mother in order to survive. Urgh.  
>I'm definetely not a fan.<p>

Aside from the victors' fighting skills, which are obviously going to be more dangerous this time around, I can sense another difference from last year's training. These people have known each other for years. The room is less silent and somehow more relaxed than it should be, given the fact they're all going to fight each other to death in a few days. I can even hear some laughter here and there. It makes me uncomfortable...

I realize Peeta is still waiting for an answer, so I think about it.

It's clear to me from the start that today will be agony. I know I won't be able to concentrate on anything but Johanna, so I need to find a way to be alone.

"Let's split up", I blurt out.

That was smooth, Katniss.

Peeta looks puzzled. "What? No! Why? We should be...Haymictch said...".

Fantastic, now I've hurt his feelings.

"I know what Haymitch said, Peeta, but you know it as much as I do... I'm not good with people. You are. I would be just a burden. Just...go, work your magic. I'll be there when you are back".

Apparently I am convincing enough, because he doesn't look so hurt anymore. He's almost flattered, just not entirely okay with the idea. He'll need an extra push.

"Come on, I'll see you at lunch so we can exchange our progress. I mean, you can tell me how much you charmed them all with your smile and I can tell you just how much of a sociopath I truly am".

I smile, and that's it, I know from the look in his eyes that he is going to agree.

"See you at lunch?" he asks.

"Yeah...". I assure him, trying not to sound too relieved.

When he kisses me on the cheek I feel warm and guilty, but then he is gone and the feeling goes away with him.

I watch him as he strikes up a conversation like it's the most natural thing in the world. I watch his face, soft and genuinely interested in what Seeder is talking about. There is a rare goodness in him, the one you find once in a life time. I can sense it even from afar. It's like there's always this light, this bright aurea of honesty around his persona...he is really too good to be true. To good to be here. He just has to be saved, I think, because his death would be a great loss. For me, and for the world.

I just wish I didn't have to fool him this way...

I last an hour. That's how much I resist.

I help a man with thick glasses and a weird looking woman that are struggling to start up a fire. I briefly wonder how they managed to survive in the arena without mastering such basic skills...  
>I catch their names: Beete and Wiress. She can't even finish her sentences, but she also doesn't have to, because he completes them for her. They know exactly what the other is thinking. It takes me less than five minutes to understand how they survived in the arena: they are the brains.<br>I like them, but I can't say I'm not distracted. I'd be more interested in the conversation if I didn't know that a completely naked Johanna was wrestling somewhere in this very same room.

Sixty minutes, that's how much I can take, and everyone of them feels like an eternity.

I must have a thing for weird people, because when I leave Beete and Wiress I find Mags, an old sweet, woman who can't even talk anymore. Grey hair and eyes like soft clouds, I just want to hug her. Her fragility makes me sad.  
>She doesn't stand a chance...she should be home, playing with her grandchildren or something. I am so mad I forget about Johanna, even if it's just for a second.<br>I like her though, because I know she's here for the same reason I was an year ago. We both volunteered. I took Prim's place, she sacrificed herself for a young woman I saw at the reaping of District Four. Her heart must be as soft as her eyes.  
>I find out that she is old, but not without skills: her snares are fantastic. They remind me of the ones Gale used to set in the woods.<br>Maybe I should stop judging someone's possibilities of survival so quickly...  
>No one in here is a victor by chance.<p>

What I also enjoy about Mags' company, is that I don't have to do small talk. I just watch her, smile, and pick up a trick or too.

I'd be too nervous to achieve anything more, anyway.

Three thousand six hundred seconds of agony, during which I'm barely conscious about what I'm doing or saying, because I'm too preoccupied with the task of following her every movement to be focused on mine.

Johanna doesn't look in my direction, not once. And that just makes me look more, throwing my cautiousness out of the window. I almost faint in the middle of minute 45 (of course I am counting them) because I think I hear her laugh. But it turns out to be just Chaff, laughing at something funny Peeta must have said. So I frown. Mags shoots me a worried look. I shrug.

Come on, Jo, look at me...

I'm so glad Peeta and I agreed to split. It would have been so obvious...even to someone as naive as him.

After the first minute of the second hour, I give up.

I'm being ridiculous. And childish. I wanted to wait for her to do something, test her resistence, tease her? I don't know. Maybe we are playing a game. If we are, it's so bvious she's winning.

But it's also obvious I need to talk to her. I have to be the grown up and make the first move.

I just want to say hi, I know we won't be able to say much in the middle of our training session, I'm not delusional...yet.  
>It won't seem weird. We did agree with Haymitch that we would try to get to know the victors in order to choose possible allies, after all.<p>

And even if talking to Johanna Mason may be perceived as weird...at this point I am too frustrated to even care.

It's just...I miss her.

I never missed someone as I miss her now. Like an essential piece I need in order to function. And it hasn't even been a full day...  
>It scares me, honestly, because it means I am not independent anymore. It's like that thing in the magnetic field, the one Beete told me about. I was half listening to him-half looking at her, but I managed to understand how it works.<br>Johanna is my chink now. A glorious, beautiful chink in my armour...but one, nonetheless.  
>She makes me feel weak, unfocused, clumsy, unprepared...and so, oh so alive.<p>

It just doesn't feel natural to me, to my body, being in the same room as her and not even acknowledging her presence. This has to stop, now.  
>It feels wrong. And a useless effort, too, since I may not be physycally with her, but there is not a thought in my head that doesn't revolve around her. I bet Mags thinks I am crazy or something.<p>

Maybe I am crazy.

The thought of her haunts me. Memories of last night fill my head, like sweet ghosts, and I see her silohuette under my eyelids every time I close my eyes.

So I surrender to the magnetic force I've been struggling with since I've entered the training center this morning. I say goodbye to Mags, and let myself begin to gravitate around Johanna.  
>I let myself get closer.<br>I'm buzzing, like a bee returning to its nest, as I slowly but nervously walk toward her, as casually as I can, until I can smell that pine scent that seems to follow her wherever she goes, trapped in her skin like mosquitos in amber.  
>I know she smells like District Seven, and people who live there must smell the the same, them being lumberjacks and all...<br>But, in my mind, it will always be reversed: it's District Seven that smells like her.

Even mixed with sweat, I'd recognize her perfume everywhere. It lingers on my tongue. It's burned in my nostrils, like those familiar smells you can't forget because they are inevitably connected with the most important, life changing memories you have. It's so strong and real it makes my head spin.

Now fully clothed, she gave up the wrestilng a while ago, and she is focusing on what she's best at: her axe. Watching her with her weapon, I am momentarely in awe her.  
>I knew she was good, I mean I watched her games and I was old enough to remember them. Plus, it's not like she is the easily forgettable type.<br>But, without a screen separating us, she's not just "good".  
>She's flawless.<br>Her axe is like an addictional limb to her body, or like a natural extension of her arm: you couldn't possibly tell where her hand ends and where the weapon begins.  
>I wonder if that's how I look when I use my bow. I strongly doubt I am that magnificient. It's like she was actually made for that axe...<p>

I am staring, and I can tell I'm not being subtle. Not that I have been, today, but still...I'm not even trying anymore.

She's too focused on making every movement as smooth as possible to notice I joined her.  
>I compose myself while looking around. Nobody seems to be paying attention to me.<br>A part of me doesn't understand why they haven't stopped like me to enjoy the show. Maybe they are afraid of her.

Well, I suppose it's for the best...

It's time to pluck up the courage to speak to her, and having an audience would make it even more complicated.

"Hey".

When I break the silence, I am determined to sound confident. Not desperate. In control.  
>Needless to say, it's a complete failure. My voice comes out as shy and feeble.<br>It's not how I wanted to start, but -to my defense- I am so full of expectations and doubts and I just suddenly need to be reassured.  
>I just need her to look me in the eyes. Words won't be necessary, we've already prooved we are pretty good at communicating without them.<p>

At first, I think she hasn't heard, and I almost speak again. But then, in a violent, swift movement, she throws her axe right in the head of a target to our left. I shiver, remembering how deadly she can be.

When she finally looks at me...I freeze.

Her eyes, yesterdey so green and real they seemed like leaves caught between mud and rain, are now hard and empty.  
>I wait for them to return like they were, I wait for her to recognize me.<p>

I wait in vain.

Her eyes don't change. Her body, still tense from the tiring activity, screams annoyance at the interruption.

We are good at communicating without words, indeed, so good that when she speaks, it isn't even necessary. I know I won't like what she has to say.

"What do you want, Everdeen?".

It's like she threw an axe to my heart. Actually, I'd take the axe in exchange any time, and with pleausure. Because this...this sudden, unexplainable coldness hurts me more than any physical pain.

Her harsh tone leaves me speachless.

Who is she? What did they do to her?

"Johanna, I just wanted to...".

I am a bubbling mess. She doesn't even let me finish. I doubt I'd have been able to, anyway.

"Now it's not the moment, Everdeen".

The second time she uses my surname to address me stings even more than the first time.

To her, I was Katniss. And because of her, I wanted to be Katniss.

So, why am I not Katniss anymore?

I am too confused by everything that's happening to speak. To ask some sort of explanation. To even cry.

I just watch her as she retrieves her axe from the head of the dummy and walks away.

And I swear with every step she takes my heart breaks a little more.

The rest of training is a blur. I spend lunch at Peeta's side, not hearing a word he says, not even saying a word myself. I barely hear him as he asks me if I'm alright. It must be the third time in half an hour. I just nod.  
>Johanna is talking with Finnick, and it's like nothing happened. How can she be so calm? Is this a nightmare, or a joke? I want to slap her in the face for the way she treated me. I want to slap Finnick for the way he's smiling at her. Are they a couple? No, they can't be.<p>

I don't want to look at her, but I can't stop looking.  
>Maybe she was just surprised. Maybe she's too scared to speak now that we are surrounded by peolple. Yeah, it must be it. There's no other explanation.<p>

When I see Enobaria leaving and no one stopping her, I decide I should leave too.  
>I just need a minute to myself. I'll wait for her in her room, where I know she must return, so that we can be alone. I need time to forget how bitter her voice sounded when she called me "Everdeen".<p>

"Katniss are you okay?" Peeta is shaking my shoulder. He's worried sick. "You are super pale...what's happening to you?".

I take the opportunity.

"I...I'm not feeling very well...do you think...they'd let me go? I just need to rest, I feel weak".

I feel his strong, callous hand on my forehead. Somehow, the gesture consoles me, because it doesn't feel remotely romantic. It's just something a friend would do.

"Go Katniss, they're not even trying to keep us here. Do you want me to go with you?". Okay, maybe this is more romantic that I thought. Why does he have to make everything more difficult. Why does he have to be so caring?

"No. Stay here. Make friends. I'll see you this evening. I just...I need to be alone".

I realize he's just being sweet and I am hurting him again with no real reason to, but right now I can't think. I can't breathe. I just need to go.  
>I plead him with my eyes and he understands. Free from the grip of his hand, I carry myself to the seventh floor.<p>

I have just enough time to open the door, then a wave of nausea hits me hard. I run to the bathroom and I puke. I am burning up. When there is nothing left in my stomach, I slowly step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, crushing on her bed. I have no energy left.

The smell is there, just as I thought. For a second, I allow myself to get lost in it and forget. I fall asleep, too exhausted to think about the consequences.

I feel a hand soflty tracing the curve of my jaw. At least I think I do.  
>It slowly starts from under my ear lobe and it goes down to my chin. It stops there, but just to start again.<br>The hand goes back and forth, always leaving a burning trace behind.  
>At first, I think I must be dreaming. But then I feel myself waking up, slowly and unwillingly. The touch is still there. It must be real. I shiver, a small moan slips from my mouth, giving away the fact that I'm almost awake, and that makes the hand stops its soothing movements. My skin misses the contact almost immediately and that causes my eyes to open abruptly.<p>

Her face is the first thing I see.

Maybe it's just my imagination that makes me see the things I actually want to see, but I swear there is a brief moment when Johanna is...Johanna.  
>The same girl that kissed me yesterday. I can tell by the way she looks at me, of course.<br>Was it her hand? It must be hers. I smile at the thought, but my happiness doesn't last.  
>Because after a moment of heaven, it's hell in all its ferocity: I see the transition happening and it kills me.<br>There is a fraction when she closes her eyes, and then, when she reopens them, she is gone. The change is so sudden and radical that it makes me think I lost her forever. Maybe I just lost my mind.  
>I am terrified by the transformatiom. I literally see the Johanna I know disappear. I see it in her eyes. It almost scares me, how easy it is for me to read them. For the first time, I wish I hadn't met her. And I hate myself for it. This is torture, this is too much to bear.<p>

"What are you doing here, Everdeen?".

She is still in her training clothes, her voice heavy with accusation. She gets up from the bed, almost as if she's too scared to touch me. It's heartbreaking, she is so tense, so defensive...the way you are with...an enemy. Since when have I become her enemy?

Then, I register it's the third time she has called me Everdeen.

This time, it feels like being hit in the face with cold water. It leaves me sad...but also angry. And rage blinds me fast.

"Will you stop calling me that?!", I scream. And then, surprising myself, I slap her. As hard as I can, leaving a scorching, red mark on her right cheek. I regret it immediately.

She must be surprised too, because she takes a step back, holding her already bruising cheek in her hand.

The realization of what I've just done hits me, almost bringing me to my knees.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Johanna...just...please, just tell me what's going on...I need you to tell me what's going on".

I feel the tears on my face and I taste them in my mouth. My head is pounding and I just want to hug her, I just want her to hold me like I already know she can and tell me it's okay.

But it's evident she has other plans.  
>Her whole face is paralized in hatred and contempt when she tells me what she wants me to do.<p>

"Yesteray, it was a mistake. You have to forget about it, you undestrand me? Just forget it".

I hear the words, loud and clear, but that doesn't stop them from not making any sense. Is she serious? Why would I want to forget? This is insane.

"Johanna", I insist on caling her by her first name, to make her understand I won't give up so easily on her, "why on earth would I want to forget the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me?".

I can see that my honesty slightly affects her. It's not much, not a full reaction, it's just the way she wraps her arms protectively around her chest. It makes me hopeful. It's a defense mechanism I know well.  
>If being utterly sincere is what it takes to bring her back to me, well, that's what I'll do.<p>

"Johanna" I say, being stubborn. "Speak to me. What happened? Did someone say something to you? Please, you are scaring me, Jo...".

Her eyes fills with something that resembles longing, or anger. I'm note quite sure which one of the two.

"Please, don't call me that" she begs. And I am more and more confused by the mixed emotions she is displaying.

"You don't want me to call you Jo? How should I call you? Mason? Huh?". My voice is harder than I have intended it to be, and I know it's a mistake. She seems to be more affected by sincerity than by anger.

"You shouldn't call me at all. Didn't you hear what I just said to you? I don't want this anymore. I don't want...you". Now she's screaming too and I understand why everyone is so terrified of her. She is glourious even in her anger, though.

"You really mean it, you don't...want me?". My voice breaking as I repeat her words. They sound so foreign in my ears. Distorted. Untrue.

"Yes".

The lack of hesistation scares me. For the first time, I actually begin to consider the possibility that she is being serious about this. I refuse to believe it.

"I don't believe you".

I am running out of things to say, I can almost feel her slipping away from me...

"That's not my problem".

"It seems to me like it is. You stripped in an elevator. You made me follow you. You kissed me. You held me through the night, you washed my face. Johanna, I still have your shirt on. I can still taste you in my mouth. Last night...it was the first time in months I slept through the night. There was no Rue dying in my arms. No blood. There wasn't even an arena. No nightmares. So don't you dare saying it doesn't mean anything to you. It has to mean something. It has to...".

For a moment, when she hears Rue's name, I see her face softening, but then it's gone and pity is replaced by sarcasm. She's almost animalistic as she speaks, her eyes as dark and offending as the words she begins to say.

"It didn't mean anything to me. You were just a distraction, Everdeen, I was lonely and you were available. It's not like I forced you to follow me. You decided to. I am sorry if I ever made you think that I cared. I don't. In two days, I'll have to kill you. So it is best if you forget what happened and focus on surviving. Because, when the time comes, it'll be the only thing I'll be thinking of".

I can't believe what she's implying.

"So you are telling me that if you have to, you'll just...what? You'll kill me? That's it?".

She is silent, and it gets on my nerves.

"I asked you a question, Mason. Look me in the eyes and answer me", I spit.

"Will. You. Kill. Me?". I scream every syllable of it, like it's poison and i have to get it out of my system. Every word makes me wanna puke. Screaming is the only way I have to get them out of my mouth.

Our eyes lock and time freezes as she takes a breath and close her eyes.  
>When she looks at me again, they are nothing but black pulls of hate and I'm already drowning.<p>

"I'll kill you, if I have to".

I just want to rip my ears off my head.

So it was all an act. A lie. She'll kill me. And I am so stupid. But I am proud too, and I don't want to give her the satisfaction of breaking down in front of her.

I take a step forward, and I kiss her. It's just a peck on the lips, but it still manages to send a shock to my system. She's too surprised to react.

Then I turn around, running to the door as fast as I can, her hot breath still burning on my lips.

"I would have loved you, if you had let me". I whisper, and then I slam the door behind me.

Only now, out of sight, I let the tears flow.


	8. A series of truths

Hello everybody!

Sorry for the explosion of sadness that was the last chapter. I understand. I was crying while writing it, duh. I know, guys, I know. These two deserve more. "More tequila, more love, more anything", as old wise Meredith would say. I can't promise you guys this one is going to be better. But I can promise it will get better eventually. There is no way I could deny happiness to my babies. :3

Just keep in mind that this is all for the sake of a realistic plot, and it'll be okay. Good stories need time. Just stay with me, will you?

Thanks for reading and reviewing. You make my day! :)

Katniss POV (yeah, I am going to stick with her for a little longer)

"Having no tears left to cry".

It's funny how I've always thought that the meaning behind this expression was an exaggeration, a hyperbole you could use in a novel, in order to explain extreme, unrealistic sadness that can't exist in real life.

Well, at least now I can say it's not just a figure of speech. I've come to the point where I literally have no tears left.

Not that I haven't cried before, but this is something else entirely.

I don't know how I manage to arrive to my room and lock the door behind me. I ignore Effie's shouts, Haymitch's fists on my door, Peeta's gentle pleas: different ways to inform me that dinner's ready. I am not hungry.

I cry for hours and after a while they get the message and leave me alone. Thank God.

In the end, tears refuse to come out of my swollen eyes, so I just sob, making these terrible, animalistic sounds.  
>I hope no one hears them, but I know they will, because even when my throat is burning, I am in no condition to stop them or even control them. I feel like, any minute now, my chest is going to break into two halves. I wait for it to happen, but physically I remain whole.<br>Emotionally, though, every desperate sound that falls from my lips is a crack that rips me up, until I am shattered in a million pieces. Like a porcelain vase thrown against a wall.

I forget my name, there is just the pain and its irrationality. I went from a state of total happiness to one of crushing desperation and it happened too fast. I didn't even see it coming. Someone should have warned me, it felt too much like an ambush.

In my delirious, almost feverish state, I think that maybe we all have a maximum amount of tears we are allowed to cry in our life, and I have reached that final number, so I won't be able to cry anymore.

My father. Rue. Those were a lot of tears, but maybe not enough.

Johanna.

It wouldn't surprise me if she managed to be the one stealing away from me the last tears I have left. Her words, and the meaning behind them, were like the final blow, the last push able to make me step over the line that separates me from complete madness.

After all, there is just so much a human body can take before it breaks.  
>I am reduced to a shivering ball curled up in damp sheets, so maybe this is it. This is what it feels like to be at the breaking point.<p>

Just because I let myself be vulnerable. And I chose to trust her.  
>You would have thought that, with all the tears I cried for all the losses I endured, I may have learned something. But no, I was stupid, and careless, and of course I was rewarded with the most cruel of betrayals.<p>

The one that comes from a lover.

I almost hope it really is the end, the breaking point, because after what Johanna did to me, there's really nothing left. The prospective of the arena in my mind becomes nothing but a fortunate coincidence.

So when the sobs stop and I fall asleep, I pray it is forever.

xxxxx

When I wake up, my face is heavy and salty. I have never been more exhausted. It's like I ran in the woods for days. Every muscle of my body screams in pain.  
>I hate the light that's coming through the windows, it means it's a new day and I am still here. Still alive.<br>The only thing that makes me get out of bed is the thought that I probably won't be much longer.

When I finally drag my tired body to breakfast, six pairs of worried eyes are on me immediately. It is obvious they heard me crying. I know that from the same expression of utter concern the three of them share. And I must have been pretty loud, if they haven't even had the courage to talk to me yet.

The first mouth that opens, no doubt wanting some explantion, it's Peeta's.  
>Of course it's him.<br>But I don't even give him time to speak. I look at him him straight in the eye and, not even recognizing my own voice, I say: "I don't want to talk about it".

That's it.

Silence fills the room and, during the most awkward ten minutes of my life, no one dares to break it. We eat in silence, and it has to be the first time that it happens. Maybe I should say that they eat while I watch, because I don't touch food.  
>Haymitch is the first to speak and I'm almost glad he does, because he doesn't try to discuss the topic of my emotional break down and the reasons behind it. He's smarter than that. Or maybe he is just scared of what my reaction would be. Understandable, since I haven't had the time or even the desire to look at myself in a mirror, but I know I must seem completely crazy, with heavy, dark circles under my eyes and my hair all over the place.<p>

"So...have you guys thought about allies? Do you have any names?".

I like Haymitch when he goes straight to the point. Peeta shoots him a look that pretty much says: "Are you crazy? She's been crying all night and you ask her about allies? What kind of man are you?".  
>But that is the last proof that even Haymitch understands me better than him. When you deal with me, especially when I'm mad, insisting and pushing me to talk isn't the right strategy, and he knows it.<p>

Not only I don't mind, I am very thankful for the distraction he provided me.

"I want Beete and Wiress" I say, and from the surprised looks on Peeta's and Effie's faces, I know they didn't expect me to talk. And they didn't expect me to say what I'm saying.

"Beete and Wiress, are you being serious?", Peeta says.

"I have never been more serious in my entire life".

"Anyone else?" Haymitch asks, his tone one between resignation and amusement.

"Yes, Mags". I add her to the list like it's the most natural answer in the world.

"Mags? Are you trying to get us killed, Katniss?". Peeta raises his voice and I am momentarely startled. He is losing his patience and it doesn't happen very often. He's angry because I shut him off earlier, I suppose.

"I like her" I say, as an explanation.

"You...like her" he mutters, growing more and more frustrated. Haymitch is still the living image of calmness.

Peeta is clearly trying to make him take his side.

"Haymitch! Say something please, this is sucidal" he begins. And I let him, because I really, really don't care. But then...

"I am not saying we should team up with the careers, but I think we can do better than a eighty years old woman. How about...Johanna Mason? She is someone I would pick as an ally. I saw her with that axe in training...".

I don't know if my blood is freezing or boiling in my veins. Anyway, something is wrong. I stand up abruptly, my chair falling to the floor with a loud noise that makes Effie gasp in surprise.

That was a slap in the face. I am not responsible for my own words and actions anymore.

"That is out of the question" I say, raising my voice. "I don't want her".

I hear the echo of what she said to me yesterday, my words inconsciously mirroring hers. "I don't want...you".  
>I can almost hear her, her voice still resonating in my ears, sounding final like a death sentence.<br>I feel my chest tightening, and I wait for the inevitable tears. They don't come. Maybe I did finish them.

Twenty four hours ago, she would have been my first choice, but now everything is changed and I am trapped in this nightmare where she is not on my side anymore. It feels surreal. I almost want to ask someone to pinch me.

Peeta is watching me with a confused look. I am suddenly so mad and he doesn't understand how it happened and what triggered my reaction. He looks scared. I don't know if it for his own safety or my own. Maybe both.

He tries with the calming approach. Good luck with that.

"Katniss please be reasonable. There is no need to get so workep up. I was just trying to say that someone like Johanna would be a precious advantange in the arena. I don't know maybe you'd prefer Finnick...?".

Oh, he shouldn't have said that.

That image from yesterday, the one of her and a blonde, smiling Finnick sitting together sharing lunch like a happy couple, is still burned in my memory and I doubt it will ever go away.

For a minute I am blinded by a feeling I can't quite place or name. Than it hits me.  
>I am jealous. I want to punch Finnick so hard he won't be able to smile anymore because it would hurt too much to do it. I want that permanent, over confident grin he always wears to disappear from his face. And I want him as far away from Johanna as possible.<p>

I am jealous and it feels so weird.  
>Then I realize I lost every right to be when she said to me I was just a distraction. Distractions aren't allowed to be jealous.<p>

I am so mad that I can't even formulate a coherent response to Peeta's nonsense. It's not like I can tell him what's going on without breaking his heart, anyway. Though it would feel so good now, having a friend to talk to.  
>So I just get up and go to my room. It's becoming a habit, recently.<p>

I make sure to slam the door as hard as I can on my way out.

I catch Haymitch saying: "Well, I believe that answered your question, kid".

He really does know me too well.

xxxxx

There must be some kind of scientific law that explains why, when things go wrong, then they're just destined to get worse.  
>That kind of law would also happen to be the perfect description of my life.<br>Or maybe there isn't a law, maybe the universe just really hates me. That would serve as an explanation, too.

After the complete mess that was breakfast, my first, original plan for the day is not going anywhere and basically staying locked up in my room until Effie will be forced to drag me out of my refuge with some of her more extreme solutions.

But it turns out that being alone while doing nothing has the side effect of giving you too much time to think about those very same things that went wrong, that are destined to get worse and that you'd like to forget.

Alone in my room, I am forced to deal with a series of truths, the first of them being that fighting with Peeta affected me more than I'd care to admit.

I know he wasn't being cruel on purpose, and I don't even know if he would be capable of doing that. He was just being reasonable as always, and he was showing his concern, but I am impulsive and he managed to say just the wrong thing (or maybe I should say names). Which is weird, because usually he has this ability to always come up with the right one.  
>In this case, though, I suppose there wasn't a right thing to say to begin with.<p>

Furthermore, in the silence surrounding me, I come to realize how deep and painful my state of solitude really is. Not that I ever was a people's person, but I am so confused and hurt that I would really like to have someone with whom I could share what happened to me in these last days.  
>When I think about the past events in my head, they feel surreal, like I've been watching myself living someone else's life.<br>Hidden in the darkness of this cold room, the truth is I miss a shoulder to cry on, even if that would mean being embarassed about it after.  
>Peeta is of course out of the question, and -aside from the fact that Gale isn't here- he couldn't be a valid option either, for obvious and identical reasons.<p>

That makes me miss Prim and, in a chain reaction, it makes my heart ache. I made a promise to myself that once in the Capitol I would't have thought about her too much. Because thinking about her is just so painful, and really, what's the point in indulging in such unpleasant thoughts?

But I can't seem to shake the feeling that she would have understood.  
>At first, hearing me talking about Johanna, she would have been surprised to find out she was a girl. But there is no doubt in my mind that she would have listened to my ramblings, because she is smarter and more patient than anyone I know. And because, being my sister, she's not in love with me like Gale and Peeta are, which is of course a bonus.<p>

She would have understood how deep and unexpected my feelings towards Johanna are, because Prim has always been able to read me like a book. She would have accepted them.  
>And maybe, just maybe, she would have come up with some useful advice or even some clever consideration that would have made me see things from another point of view.<br>Or, more probably, she wouldn't have been able to fix the situation (she's no god, after all), but I know she would have been happy to give me the comfort I am so desperately ashamed to need right now.

After two hours of thinking about Johanna, about a friend that I treated like an enemy, and a sister I won't be able to see anymore, I am watching the wall like it is the only cause of my misfortunes.  
>I feel the need to punch it.<br>Fortunately, I don't give in to my instincts, or I would have found myself with a broken hand and a very angry Haymitch to deal with. Not that I am suddenly concerned with my safety, I am still planning to die. But if there is a thing that has remained certain during these two days of complete madness that left me shaking with confusion, is that I still have to save Peeta. I still need to. That part of the plan remains unchanged. And in order to do that, I am going to need my hands. Both of them.

So I decide to go to the training centre in order to blow off some steam. Plus, I am positive that Johanna won't be there...she would't have the guts to show up, after yesterday, would she?

Okay, I am a terrible liar.

A part of me, one I am not particularly proud of, just wants to see her again. Maybe it isn't the universe that hates me, after all. Maybe I just hate myself.

xxxxx

I show up at the worst time possible, when lunch is over but training hasn't started yet. Perfect timing, really.

They are all socializing, and it's so unconvenient, because my intention was not making new friends. Peeta is surprised but happy to see me. He learned his lesson and he doesn't ask questions. I just stay close to him as he chats with a bunch of other victors, clenching his arm like it's an anchor.  
>Not saying a word, just nodding from time to time, I play the part I despise, the one of the shy girl in love with the noble guy.<br>I am too focused on what's going on in other parts of the room to care.

Not so far away, in fact, Johanna and Finnick are together. Their new found habit of playing the part of a happy couple that they seem to enjoy so much it's becoming more and more upsetting.  
>I don't know if she is aware I joined the happy party. I don't know if she noticed I wasn't even here in the first place. And even if she knows I'm here now, why would she care?<br>I notice that at the moment, though, they don't look as happy as I pictured them in my jealous mind. On the contrary, they are talking animatedly. Maybe they are fighting? Please, dear god, tell me they are fighting.

But no, now he's putting a strong, muscular arm around her, consoling her while showing his defined, left bicep. I bet he knows what he's doing.  
>She slaps his arm away, and I am gald, but she does it with a playful smile that kills me. I would give everything I have to hear what they're talking about. Instead, I just stare from the distance, so tense that I don't even notice my hands becoming two angry fists, fingernails soon causing red marks to appear on my sweaty palms.<p>

When the actual training begins, I almost scream in relief. I abandon Peeta immediately and I almost sprint to the bow and arrows I've been dying to use since I 've entered the room.

The weapon I choose feels light and friendly in my hands. It fits perfectly.

I begin to shoot, aiming at the targets, and the calming effect I was hoping for rains down on me almost immediately. I happily drown in this temporary state of peace, with the kind of abandon a lover would offer to his loved one.

After the third shot, I am in the woods, oblivious of my sorroundings.  
>I am perfect, I feel good, my body is alive, my mind is switched off, there is nothing but the targets I take down with deadly precision. Sweat begins to cover me me like a warm veil, a soft cloud.<p>

I don't know how long this goes on, but I know when I have to stop even though I'd like to go on forever, because I am panting, my breath erratic and uncontrolled.

When I stop, I realize I'm not in the woods, but in the training centre. Of course, I had completely forgotten.

The weird thing is, the room is so silent. It's almost as if...

And then I spot them, almost forming an ordinate line, all the victors in the room, still like statues made of marbles, ate watching me in disbelief.

I know from the surprised and terrified looks on their faces they have all been watching me while I was shooting. Peeta is among them.  
>Even Brutus is impressed: it must have been quite a show.<p>

When they realize I am watching them too and the show is over, they almost run away. The crowd they formed dissolves quickly. They don't want me to know they are impressed, it wouldn't be a wise move. So they all return to what they were doing.

Something even weirder happens, though: Johanna is the slowest to react.

When everyone is gone, she is still there, barely five steps separating us.

Why is she standing there? Her expression is unreadable and I am so mad because I used to be the one who was able to undertand her just by looking at her eyes. Apparently, I lost this ability as fast as I had gained it.

I do something out of anger. Something I know I will be ashamed of for a long time. That doesn't stop me from doing it.

It happens in a blur. I find myself with the string of my bow tensed, the arrow in its place, aiming at her. I don't remember about moving at all.

I could kill her right now and she couldn't possibly do anything about it.

She doesn't move. I don't know if she is too surprised or if she's daring me to shoot. For a millisecond, I feel so powerful.  
>Then, the realization of what I'm doing and the implications the come with it hit me. The bow slips from my hands, falling to the floor. Regret washes over me. Some of the victors' heads turn, startled by the noise. The majority doesn't pay attention to what's happaning. It is all too fast.<p>

I stare at her but she doesn't hold my gaze. Her eyes drop to the floor immediately, almost as if she doesn't want me to look at her. It's a weird behaviour coming from someone who's so brave and snooty, but in a way I am almost glad she doesn't look, because I am scared of what I would find in her eyes.  
>Fear? Hate? Indifference? Sarcasm? I don't know.<p>

What I do know is that this is the moment when I have to admit to myself the last truth of the series. It's hard, coming to terms with it, and bitter: it almost feels like loosing. The last of my truths is that I won't be able to kill her like she swore she would. My bow will always and inevitably slip from my hands.

Because, even after all she said, after all those terrible words she used to describe what I was to her (or what I wasn't), after being seduced and betrayed and turned down, after all she managed to make me feel, do and say, after all she gave me and then took away from me in barely fourty eight hours, and because of it...  
>the truth is I still love her.<p>

My love for her is irrational and so primitive. My love for her is alive in itself, it slips away from my control, it has its own mind. My love for her doesn't know her well, but it somehow knows it would have loved everything about her, and that is enough.  
>It's weak, like the flame of a candle, because it hasn't had the time or the possibility to grow. But in a way it is also strong and it refuses to surrender, because it is unconditional. It doesn't end just because it isn't met by an equal amount of her affection. It doesn't compromise. The fact that she doesn't love me is somehow irrelevant.<br>My love for her leaves me with no doubts: I would have adored her. I would have celebrated her. And I would't have asked anything in return.

And that is going to be an enormous problem when we'll eventually be in the arena together. Because there is nothing more stupid, irrational, unpredictable than unrequited love and the sacrifices you are ready to make because of it.


End file.
